


The Cavalry-Maiden

by J__K



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Character Study, Gen, Historical, Russian Empire, War of 1812
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J__K/pseuds/J__K
Summary: When the war with Napoleon started, Vera Turovskaya participated in it. What did she feel and what others think about her?
Kudos: 1





	1. Farewell. 1812, June 17th

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Игра судьбы](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/686893) by Я. К.. 



> To be honest, the author was inspired by N. A. Durova’s memoirs. Nevertheless, author supposes her story to be an original one.

The air was hot and thick. The midday sun was going to hide behind the bluish cloud. The crowd of relatives and guests was murmuring looking at Vera.

She felt uncomfortable here. It was impossible to hide somewhere near the wall, as she used to do at balls. Vera was, after all, in the spotlight. Today she would be married to the neighbour.

"Just imagine" — Vera heard, — "Rides a horse! Alone! And in such clothes!"

She sighted. Why on earth the aunts think about her free time? The father countenances her walks, the mother just allows them and, what is more, an old doctor thinks them to be very healthy. And what about her clothes... Women's dresses are extremely awkward for horse-riding!

To crown it all, the groom did not come in time. He was almost half-an-hour late, and Vera started thinking of the reasons.

Buttons might have fell of his vest and servants are probably sewing now. Or a horse might have lost its shoe and he has to wait for a blacksmith. That was not a great deal.

But there could be unpleasant reasons, too.

What if he had decided that marriage with a girl having no dowry except some ribbons is not a good idea? Or if he had remembered some countess from Saint Petersburg who has a poetic name Julie and an appearance of ancient nymph? Or, finally, had understood that Vera is stupid, not beautiful, short-tempered?

It was so hurtful!

Four months ago — which seemed to be not less than a year, — when Vera had just moved to Mir, the neighbour noticed her before the morning worship. "These violets are so nice", — said he looks on her bouquet, — "wouldn't you present them to me?" Vera hesitated and said nothing. Since then he usually sent her some flowers.

Vera loved him, although not the way showed in books. She could talk with him about music, or literature, or painting, for hours listen for him speaking on philosophy, looking at him drawing in her album. She could do it with nobody — neither with sisters nor brother.

But, to think, it was not the main reason. Vera hoped that the marriage would lead her to the freedom — not absolute, of course. Now she was allowed to do almost nothing except short walks. All day she had to embroider or making a lace and sit indoors, in a stuffy room.

Finally, two horsemen showed up.

One of them, wearing a dark-green coat, was Alexandr Ilyich, the groom: Vera recognized him immediately. And the second, wearing a shining cuirass, was unknown.

They dismounted. Alexandr Ilyich came to Vera and said, not greeting her:

"You know, I must bid farewell to you".

"Why?"

He really seemed to be disappointed in her.

"Haven't you heard the news?"

Vera shook her head.

"Last week the French army crossed Neman, and twenty-four hours later I have to be in the regiment".

It was much worse than Vera's thoughts. He, so kind, so dear, could be captured or even killed, and she would not bear the grief.

"Are you a soldier?"

"I'm a doctor in their regiment" — he nodded to his companion.

They kept quiet for a while.

"Goodbye" — he said.

"I'm going with you", — Vera answered trying to hide her tears.

She had no idea why she decided to say that. She was not encouraged by a patriotism — how will she help the country? Probably she wanted to be near Alexandr Ilyich and support him somehow, or the freedom was seen.

"You must be mad... Goodbye!"

He bowed and disappeared in the crowd and then, showing up for a second, got on the horse and vanished.


	2. The Battle. 1812, August 24th

The early morning was light, pink and wonderfully quiet. A field near the Kolotscky monastery seemed to be good for herds. But now commands were heard instead of cowherds’ horns, and the soldiers could be seen instead of cows or goats. The Lithuanian uhlans had just repelled the French attack, and now had time to catch their breath.

The idyllic landscape made Vera to reflect. Exhausting heat or icy wind, bullets whistling and roar of canons, permanent tire and fear — once it all will stop. The only thing Vera wanted — to go home and never think about these horrors. No doubt, many of her companions wanted that, too.

It was, however, impossible. “Cowardly soldier must not leave… It’s a real sin to go back with such great people,” — she remembered what the war chiefs were saying. Moreover, she supposed the country to need any, even the smallest, help.

A shtandard-bearer was killed in the battle of Smolensk. “Do not fail,” — he whispered, giving Vera, who was beside him, the flag. Once she helped a wounded officer of another regiment, having lent him her horse. “That’s not enough,” — she thought, “I have to do more.”

The dreams about rest and warmth were much more realistic. To be in heated hut, to lie on a bench and have a good sleep would be a delight after staying awake for many nights.

For a pity, these dreams did not become truth. “Squadron! March!” — and her thoughts were interrupted, and everybody rushed.

She saw faces of Russians and Frenchmen, distorted by fear and anger; swords and pikes just in front of her eyes; their commander, having had gone behind the lines; and a dozen of injured and killed.

The attack ended, but there would be no break: the counteroffensive started.

And again there were shouts, moans, shots and commands. That was several times this morning, that is almost every day, — but Vera could not get used to it.

Noise suddenly was changed with the tinnitus, and the billions of coloured moving dots covered everything as a fog. A cannonball had blown up, and Vera felt only a dull paint a bit lower than her knee.

***

Somewhere far canons still were roaring, but Vera was not up to them. She reached the aid point with a great difficulty and was waiting till any doctor stops his deals with seriously wounded and is able to help her.

She had no idea how much time she spent here — an hour, two or maybe ten. Vera lost consciousness and then regained it, and in such moments she was looking on the sky, covered by clouds, and on branches of a birch. Yellowish-green leaves sometimes fell, rounding like butterflies; Vera was following them blankly with her eyes, trying taking her mind off pain.

Coloured annoying numerous dots started their dance again. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds and seemed to be a candle. The fire went out, and Vera fainted once more.

“Nowhere were as many killed as today are amputated legs and arms,” — heard she, having came to herself. The doctor was staying not far and talking with an officer.

“Sure, I’m still delirious,” — she thought. A second ago she saw her sister Eugenia playing on the piano a song about king Heinrich. Now she saw Alexandr Ilyich.

He bowed to the officer and, having turned, noticed Vera. For a minute he was looking at her and then ran to Vera, took her fingers with his big warm palm and said:

“Vera Andreevna! What are you doing here?!”


	3. The Talk. 1812, August 24th

“What are you doing there?” — asked Alexandr Ilyich.

He was thoughtful and severe and seemed to can tell Vera off.

“Nothing”, “Hanging around” and some other answers were on the tip of her tongue. What could she say so as to he did not think anything bad about her?

“How do you feel?” — he said giving her no time to answer.

“Well, thank you.”

No matter she had lied a bit — the answer had many advantages. Firstly, it was polite; secondly, Alexandr Ilyich will not think she was too soft; thirdly, if there is no blood it does not worth worrying.

“I can’t say this… What for are you looking coy?”

He smiled and Vera thought that if he does not approve of her behaviour, at least he does not blame it.

“Awfully. I’m tired, cold and hungry and my leg hurts” — plaintive words escaped her lips. Indeed, she felt so awfully that wanted to cry, but was ready to tell it neither herself nor anybody else.

Somebody called Alexandr Ilyich, and he left Vera, having told her: “Well, it’s not the worst’.” Vera was looking on falling leaves for few minutes and fainted again.

***

She came to her senses because somebody patted on her cheeks. Vera looked around: she was lying in a tent and Alexandr Ilyich was awaking her.

“Feeling better?” — Vera nodded. — “Will you tell anything about you?”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Why? How did they accept you in a regiment?” — Alexandr Ilyich seemed to be interested. He sat beside her and got ready to listen.

“Rather easily. I gave a word of honour.”

She did not want to answer such questions. Shameful, wrong, reprehensible was her occupation although she endeavoured to persuade herself in it was not. After all, peasant women fight against Frenchmen and, perhaps, do not feel bad about it.

“But peasant women do lots of things I’ll never think about.” — All arguments were worthless since she had to stick to the rules — in her usual life, of course.

Even the conversations with Alexandr Ilyich, which always were pleasant, now were causing worries. What caused them, Vera did not know; nevertheless, they still were growing.

“So, are you serving as everybody else” — he asked.

Vera did not answer.

“You see,” — she said looking aside sadly, — “we ought to break the engagement.”

“What the h…” — it was difficult to control himself. — “Do you have fever and delirium?”

He wanted to touch her forehead, but Vera upped, leaning on her elbow, and said:

“I’m absolutely healthy and talking seriously. We must break up.”

“I’d challenge this scoundrel to a duel,” — said Alexandr Ilyich between greeted teeth. — “But I feel sorry for you, so God grant that man love you as I do.”

For a second Vera could say nothing because of outrage. What did he think about her?!

“How dare you say this!” — she exclaimed. — “I love nobody except you!”

“Indeed? And what’s the matter then?”

The explanation was complicated. Abandoning her feelings, her probable happiness… She expected their meeting to look much different. For a pity, it was not just needed — vitally important.

Every her acquaintance will turn away from her and stop any communication both with Vera and her family if he or she hears about her present strange adventures. Alexandr Ilyich, who was going to tie the knot with her, must not be separated from society.

“Don’t you understand that when it all stops other people will just spit in my face? That they’ll be right? Finally, that they won’t lend you a hand?”

He laughed:

“Those people must be quite unintelligent… You think, they also can’t stand the Schiller’s play?”

Vera shrugged. Not only Schiller but all modern authors were thought to be extremely indecent by her mother and Vera was not allowed to read their books.

“If you are so upset, I’ll say this.” — he continued. — “Everybody will be happy to meet you; you’ll be tired of visits. You’ll write books and be published in «Herald of Europe».”

They kept quiet and then Alexandr Ilyich asked:

“Maybe you’ll tell me about Smolensk? They say, the place for cavalry was totally inappropriate?”

Now Vera had to answer. Getting used to fame, outlined by Alexandr Ilyich, must be step-by-step; too much attention seemed to be more unpleasant than absence of it.


	4. Coming Back. 1812, September 7th

A village in fire looked like a sunset. Who knows, maybe Turovskoys’ manor is burnt? Who knows where Vera’s parents, sister and brother?

Vera was going to a short leave — she had only a mere day, — and hoped to find her relatives in a Moscow estate. Although she had left them in Grodno province, they probably fled the occupied territory.

The heart was pounding, jumping to neck and falling; she felt shivery — because of drizzle, or recent injury, or anxiety.

Having pulled back the reins, she forced the steed to go slower. It was frightening a bit to return home.

Her father did not answer to a letter which Vera had written after the escape and in which she asked for forgiveness, and that meant he was cross. The mother, perhaps, was angry too — but she got mad if Vera went to the park without permission or made lace inaccurately.

The father looked the other way, never blaming her for that, so to lose his trust was an unfair punishment.

Vera stopped. She was few versts away home, and meadows surrounded her.

A long time ago father took her and brother Modest to look at mowing. It was hot, the air was full of a bitter smell, a man, leading villagers, was shouting… And the recollection, warm and sunny, unlike this rainy, grey, dismal day, made Vera to spur her steed and race as fast as she could — to place where nobody waited her or even wanted to see but where she wished to be.

***

The park left behind, and Vera saw the old house with a belvedere and columns. She rode into the backyard of the manor.

Despite the early morning, between barns, stable, sheds — all these not used for ages and therefore sank to sides buildings, — was lively. It was not that mechanical fuss, which is repeated daily, but a disorderly rush of servants.

They were loading trunks onto carriages, carts and wagons. “Palashka! — somebody cried. — Give me ma’am’s casket!” — “A casket? — a barefooted girl grumbled. — You’ll crash it with trunks.”

A stableman, whom Vera never saw before, was harnessing horses. When she, having dismounted, asked him to take care of the stable, the stableman mumbled angrily, but Vera did not pay attention: so apprehensive she was about seeing her relatives.

On the porch she met Eugenia, who was looking at loading with a great interest. She, squinting and not recognizing Vera, asked her:

“Whom are you looking for, sir? Shall I accompany you to the father?”

“Accompany,” — answered Vera.

Vera did not remember the rooms where they were walking — last time she visited that manor ten years ago. Not heated, badly furniture, with lots of chests, they seemed to be cosy after tents built for a day and draughty.

Eugenia opened a door in the end of suit of rooms — turned the small doorknob. Vera thought that her fingers were quivering and her palms were so wet because of sweat, that she would never manage to handle with it. The sister, looking inside the room, said:

“Papa! A gentleman wants to meet you!”

The father told her something; Eugenia turned to Vera and said “Come in.”

And — with tears alike a fog — Vera ran to the father, apologized. He was stroking her head, trying to soothe her, and repeating:

“Don’t cry, my darling!”


	5. At Home. 1812, September 7th

“Don’t cry, my dear.” — the father was saying. — “Do not!” 

“Oh please forgive… I did wrong… And I’ll never do it again…” — Vera sobbed. 

She justified herself timidly, childishly, because father’s caresses reminded her old times. The old times, when the mother scolded Vera, and the father, having put her on his knees, calmed his little girl. 

“What happened? What are you talking about, my friend?” — he probably misheard her. 

So calmly — as a spring in a forest — his voice sounded, so fondly — as a rising sun — he patted her on the head, that Vera understood he was not cross with her, and asked a bit more confidently: 

“You aren’t angry, are you?” 

“How can I be angry? I’m proud of you, Vera!” 

She looked in wide-eyed astonishment, and the father added: 

“Modest is sitting around the house, and you’re a hero, a holder of St. George.” 

Vera frowned. The fifth grade is nothing to be proud of. And the realization that she could be excused only because of her seeming success was painful. 

“And I feel sorry for you, my dear!” 

She felt like a great weight was lifted off her — these words made her placid and serene. It seemed that never was there a fear of anger and Vera always was sure her father would calm her as always. 

He still was touching her entangled hair, and Vera recollected that before — when she was six years old — in evenings her father came to her room and, talking with her about a passing day, made her a braid. Now Vera also was getting sleepy. She rested her head on her father's shoulder, closed her eyes, — and the father’s whisper “Verochka… My dear, my friend” was lulling Vera. 

*** 

Vera woke up because father’s valet entered and said: 

“The lady is waiting you for a tea and deigned to be upset that you still didn’t come” 

“Tell her to order one more cover,” — the father answered and added, looking to Vera: — “You aren’t leaving now?” 

She smiled and shook her head. A minute ago, when she just opened her eyes, everything seemed to be only a dream, pleasant and ephemeral. 

They walked through the suit of rooms. Although the father gave her his hand, Vera only took his palm. As much as she would like to lean on it — her leg still hearted, and Vera limped, — she did not want to cause any troubles. 

In a dining room the family has already started a high tea. Eugenia jumped up, saying “I didn’t recognize you”, kissed her on both cheeks; Modest pulled an empty chair quicker than servants; only mother did nothing. She was stirring her tea, without noticing Vera. 

“Are you going with us to the uncle?” — “Why are you so pale?” — “How long are you staying?” — brother and sister kept asking Vera, and she hardly managed to answer. The father sometimes complained that Vera’s favourite pies were not cooked or offered to send out for another jam. 

Finally, the mother talked to Vera: 

“And how do they call you there?” 

“Why do I have to remember what was there?” — thought Vera and sighed: 

“Alexandr.” 

The mother did not say anything during all high tea, and the conversation switched on urgent topics: how not to forget something necessary and when would they hit the road… 

When the tea was finished, the ladies stood and were ready to go to the drawing room. Eugenia curtsied, and Vera, having paused a bit, bowed: nothing could look more stupidly than a curtsey made by a person in a uniform. 

“Are you going with us, Alexandr?” — the mother pretended to be surprised. 

“Yes, I’d like…” 

The mother interrupted: 

“Then at least gave an arm to your sister! You ought to behave appropriately to your position in society!” 

“I suppose I’ll have lots of difficulties with society,” — Vera decided. — “My previous position was much better.”


End file.
